A Story to Kill (10 page)

Shauna stood and held out her hands. “I'll pull you to your feet, but you are not cooking. I don't want to lose another pan.”

“Hey, I forgot I had turned the heat on high. I really wasn't gone that long.” She grabbed her friend's hands and pulled herself to standing. “I'm a good cook.”

“Keep telling yourself that, someday someone might believe you.”

Cat held the door open and then followed Shauna into the cool lobby. The grandfather clock near the stairs chimed one o'clock. “I didn't realize it was so late.” She paused at the clock and opened the door, pulling the weights to reset the mechanism. Her parents had left her the clock when they moved and she had carefully moved it from Colorado to California and now back again. She closed the door and ran a hand down the smooth wood surface.

That chore done, she followed Shauna into the kitchen. “Can I at least help?”

“I'm making us chopped salad and cooking a piece of tuna to go over the top. You could get out the produce and get it washed.” Shauna listed off the items as Cat pulled them from the fridge.

As she walked to the counter, she noticed a package on the table. “What's that?”

Shauna glanced toward her. “Oh, I forgot. It was on the porch when I followed Seth out earlier. Looks like we missed a delivery.”

Cat set the veggies down on the counter and walked over to the table. The package was notebook size and wrapped in brown paper. Someone had tied it up with a string along with the sealing tape to keep the paper sealed. Her full name and
700 Warm Springs, Aspen Hills
were written on the front in scrolling letters but nothing else. No postmark, no shipping stickers. This hadn't been sent through any of the normal delivery channels. Her mind went to the earlier phone call. She shook off the chill she suddenly felt in the warm kitchen.

“So what is it?” Shauna's words broke her inability to move, and Cat stepped closer and picked up the item with two hands.

“I haven't opened it yet.” She turned over the package, looking for any additional clues to the sender, but there was nothing. She heard the kitchen drawer open, then Shauna set a pair of scissors next to her on the table.

“You'll have to cut off that string. I didn't think the post office allowed you to use string anymore. It tends to mess up their machines.” Shauna returned to the stove where she was starting the fish. “You deal with that I'll start chopping the veggies.”

Cat sat in a chair and carefully snipped the string and then cut the top of the package. She turned it upside down and a leather bound journal slipped onto her table. She immediately recognized the book and ran her hand over the soft cover. Three initials were carved in gold on the top.
M E L.
Michael Edward Latimer.

She'd assumed the journal had been in Michael's top lefthand side desk drawer all this time, but apparently not. Her dead husband's journal had been found and returned home.

But by who?

Chapter 10

Uncle Pete sat at the table across from Cat, looking at the journal. He used a napkin to turn the pages. Finally, he sighed and closed the book. “So this just showed up today?”

“It was out on the porch when Shauna went outside. It wasn't there when I left to take the group to campus.” Cat thought back on when she'd left the house today. She was certain she would have seen a package, even though she'd been distracted by Linda's insistence on joining the group. She turned to Shauna. “Where did you find it?”

“It was right under the mail slot. I figured I must not have heard the postman knock. Now that I think of it, the mail typically comes around three. That would have been too early for him.” Shauna busied herself around the kitchen, cleaning up from the salads that they'd had for lunch but neither of them had finished. “Are you sure I can't make a pot of coffee for you? Or iced tea?”

Uncle Pete shook his head. “I just had a long lunch with the mayor about the uptick in drug use at the college. Believe me, I'm coffee'd out.”

Cat tapped on the table near the book. “Are you taking it into evidence?”

“What for?” Uncle Pete appraised her with a long look. “Michael's been dead for more than six months. You know that right?”

“Of course, I know that.” Cat's mind jumped to the phone call she'd gotten. It must have been from the same person that had the journal; it had just sounded so much like Michael saying her name. She involuntarily shook her head, throwing the question aside. Uncle Pete had seen Michael's body. That's all she needed to know.

“Tell me again why you asked me about Michael's death earlier.” Uncle Pete waited for her answer, but Cat avoided eye contact and just shrugged. No need for him to think she was crazy and hearing things.

When it was apparent he wasn't going to leave without an answer, she broke. “Look, it was probably nothing, but someone called and said my name, then hung up.”

“What does that have to do with asking about Michael's death?” Shauna sat next to her and covered Cat's hand with her own.

Now she really was going to look crazy. In for a pound, her mother always said. “It sounded like Michael. He was the only one who ever called me Catherine.” She looked at both Uncle Pete and Shauna, challenging them to disagree.

“Except telemarketers who get your name off some random list.” Uncle Pete nodded to Shauna. “You got a couple big Baggies I can use?”

“You're taking it in?” Cat asked again.

“Let's just say I'm interested.” He tucked the wrapping paper in one bag and the journal in another. “I'll get this tested for fingerprints, then return it to you. If you want it.”

The unspoken statement hung in the air. Michael's journal could be about his work or, more likely, about his conquests both during and after their marriage. Cat didn't really want to reopen that bag of pain, but something wouldn't let her throw away the journal, not since it had been returned to her. There must be a reason the anonymous gifter had wanted her to read the journal. She nodded. “Drop it off when you're done. I'm not sure I want to read it, but I might.”

“Cat, there's something you need to know.” Uncle Pete paused when she put up a hand.

“Not right now. It's been a little weird around here, and I just want to go upstairs and take a nap to try to get rid of this pounding headache.” She forced a smile at her uncle. Then she turned to Shauna. “Wake me up if you need me.”

She wandered through the house and up the stairs, memories of Michael hitting her at every turn. How he'd laughed when they were fixing the railing on the second story. How he'd complained about the boxes on boxes of books he'd carted to her office. But even Cat had known he'd been proud of her being hired at the college. For a while, their life had been perfect.

Then he'd stopped loving her.

Her head pounded and tears were building behind her eyes. She ran the back of her hand across her eyes and swore. “I will not cry for you again Michael Latimer. Never again.”

She opened the door to her bedroom, and closed it after her. Falling on the bed, she kicked off her shoes and wrapped herself in the quilt she kept at the bottom of the bed. She fell asleep with memories of her ex-husband floating through her head.

When she woke, the sun had set and the room was dark. A tray sat on the table by the window with a sandwich and a glass of tea. Shauna had added two brownies to the tray and Cat took one and ate it as she stretched awake. The headache was gone and the pain from Michael's betrayal was locked back into her heart where it had laid silent for so many years.

Maybe coming back had been a bad idea. She loved the house, but it held so many memories, good and bad.

No. The only reason she was dragging down memory lane was the phone call and the journal. Someone was messing with her, and she was going to find out who and why.

She finished her dinner, then checked on her appearance in the bathroom. She ran some water over her face, brushed her hair, and decided she looked passable, even if the retreat gang was hanging out in the living room.

Carrying the tray, she maneuvered down the stairs and into the kitchen without running into anyone. Then her luck changed. Rose and Daisy sat at the table, teacups in hand and a plate of the brownies on the table in between them. They looked up as she entered.

“Well, there you are.” Daisy smiled, wiping her lips with a napkin. “We were beginning to think you took off with that lovely man. But when he walked through with an arm filled with tools and wood, we figured you must just be writing.”

“Or shopping.” Rose added. “I like to shop when my mind is dealing with a hard plot point. Sometimes I just don't know where the story is going, so I take off for the mall. When I come home, I've got a direction.”

“And bags filled with clothes you don't need.” Her sister tapped the empty chair next to her. “Come sit with us. I'd love to talk about ways you deal with writer's block.”

“Give me a second, I'll be right there.” Cat set the tray down on the cabinet and rinsed her plates before putting the dirty dishes into the dishwasher. Shauna would come in later tonight and run the dishwasher while everyone was asleep. She put the kettle back on the stove, turned on the gas, and got a cup and a tea bag ready for the water. Figuring she'd stalled long enough, she turned back to the sisters, now arguing over the importance of a first line.

“So what do you want to know about writer's block?” Cat snatched a brownie from the plate, took a bite of the chocolate heaven, and then, sighing, set the rest down on a napkin. “Some people say it's an excuse, not an actual problem.”

Each of the sisters had her own opinion, of course, and Cat felt like a referee rather than a peer. She paused, listening to the clock in the hallway. Nine chimes; she'd been here over an hour and the two hadn't agreed on anything.

“Oh, my, is that really the time?” Rose paused after the final chime. “I need to get to bed. Tomorrow's a big day. I've got to get some words down so I can go to the dinner on Saturday. I bought a new little black dress.”

Daisy smiled at Cat then shrugged her shoulders in a silent
What can you do?
gesture.

As they rose to leave, Cat remembered the question she wanted to ask Rose. “Hey, you said you talked to Tom Cook on Monday at the library?”

Rose sighed and a smile curved her lips. “I did, and I'll never forget it.” She dug into her purse and pulled out a smart phone. “Look, he even took a selfie with me. I'm posting it on my Facebook, web page, and anywhere I can as soon as I get home.”

She handed the phone to Cat. There in the private library carousels was Tom Cook, hugging a grinning Rose, with his laptop open to the side. She'd been right—Tom Cook had taken his laptop to the library. So where was it?

That was the million-dollar question. Something about what Linda had said poked at her memory. “Good picture. You know you can post them right from your phone, don't you?” She handed Rose back the phone and the woman stared at her image with her idol for a second before putting the phone back into her purse.

Rose didn't look up. “It's easier to do from my desktop at home. I'm still getting used to this new phone.”

Cat smiled, wondering what else Rose didn't know about her phone's capabilities. She decided to move the conversation back to Tom Cook. “You said he was working on a memoir? His wife said he was writing his next thriller.”

“Well, maybe she didn't know everything about him!” Rose's eyes widened and she slapped her hand over her mouth. “That came out wrong.”

“Very wrong, sister.” Daisy put her hand on Rose's arm. “Jealousy doesn't become you.”

“I know. And I'm working on it.” Rose turned her attention to Cat. “All I can tell you is what he said. He told me he was back in Covington to research his own story, and it was going to have as much mystery and intrigue as the fiction books he wrote.”

The sisters said their goodnights and Cat stayed at the table, wondering what Tom Cook had really been writing. And where his laptop had disappeared to. She knew one thing: If they found his laptop, they had his killer.

She booted up the laptop that she'd bought for Shauna when they'd moved to Colorado. The woman kept it on her desk in the kitchen, not seeing the need to keep it in her room. When Cat had asked her about it, Shauna had laughed. “I use it for the retreat work and for looking up recipes. Where else would I keep it?”

Cat had tried to explain that she could watch movies or read or research travel sites on the minicomputer, but Shauna shrugged. “I have a television and a DVR player; that's all I need. If I want to read, I'll pick up a real book. I'm not like most of my generation; I'm not going to be tied to some machine to make me happy.”

So instead of the computer being Shauna's, it had become the kitchen laptop, which Cat had to admit came in very handy. She searched for Tom's web page. Scanning it, she saw he had a link to his blog. She clicked on that and scanned the last few posts to see what he was saying about writing, if anything. Linda Cook had been right; he had been in the middle of writing his next thriller, according to a blog post he posted last week. Cat went farther down the posts, but nothing verified what Rose had said, except perhaps one.

That had been the last post on his blog.

Cat closed the laptop and drained her now-cold tea into the sink and put the cup into the dishwasher. Shauna walked into the room as she was finishing.

“Hey, I didn't expect to see you down here. I knocked on your door, but you had already brought the tray down. I would have dealt with that if you wanted to sleep some more.” Shauna put a dish detergent pod into the machine and started up the cycle. “I'm serving waffles with that lovely huckleberry syrup I found at the souvenir shop last week. The woman gave me a few bottles to display and if I sell some, she'll keep giving us the stuff at cost.”

“Sounds like you're making friends with the local community.” Cat leaned against the counter and looked at her friend. “Are you happy here? Do you regret moving away from home?”

“California was never my home. I followed my last loser boyfriend out there from Ohio, so don't worry about dragging me from my roots. And no, I'm not missing Ohio. This place is amazing. I was talking to Kim, she runs the souvenir shop, and she says I can probably learn to snow ski this winter, with a few classes. Her boyfriend runs the ski school, so she's going to get me a discount.” Shauna's eyes grew bright. “I'm on a pretty amazing adventure, and I don't even have to work nights at a dive bar to pay my rent.”

“As long as Tom Cook's death doesn't scare away writers from attending future retreat sessions.” Cat mused. “Have we had any cancelations?”

“Nothing yet, but we're still on half capacity until after January. Or whenever your boyfriend gets the other wing of guest rooms finished.” Shauna picked up the booking calendar on her desk. “You can always see the reservation list here.”

“He's not my boyfriend.” Cat waved away the notebook. “I'm still beat. I'll see you in the morning.”

A knock sounded at the back door and Seth walked in. His brown hair was still damp from a shower, he had on clean jeans and a button-down shirt, and he smelled good. Cat glared at him. “How long have you been standing out there?”

“Chill out, I only just arrived.” He looked at the two women, a slow smile curving his lips. “Have you two been talking about me? Is that why Cat's so riled up?”

“No.” Cat put her hands in her jeans. “Why would we be talking about you?”

Seth's gaze went to Shauna. Cat turned her head to follow his look, and caught her friend nodding like a pound puppy.

“Fine, what do you want?” Cat glared at the man in her kitchen.

He leaned against the doorway and tossed his keys. “Who said I wanted anything?”

The guy looked like a staged shot for a romance novel cover. Cat felt her body respond to his unspoken invitation. “Okay, let me change the question. Why are you here?”